


A Breath of...

by misspamela



Category: Entourage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/pseuds/misspamela





	A Breath of...

"Do you remember Fresh Air?" Eric called, as he was flipping through the latest _Variety_.

The bathroom door opened in a puff of steam. Vince poked his head out. "Fresh air?" he gurgled around his toothbrush. Vince spit loudly into the sink. "We haven't been living in L.A. _that_ long, E. Are you longing for the vast wilderness of Queens?" he spread his hands, framing the imaginary scene in the air, and affected a wistful look.

"No, asshole." Eric threw the _Variety_ at him. "Fresh Air camp. Remember? When we were twelve?"

Vince's mouth dropped open and his eyebrows shot up. Sometimes Eric forgot about how much of Vin was a persona until he dropped the shit and just became a _person_.

"Wow, I haven't thought about that in forever." Vince walked over and flopped on the bed. Eric winced. It took a brave man to do a naked belly-flop. "That was the best summer."

Eric snorted. "Yeah, sitting in the woods in Vermont with all the other poor, underprivileged kids was _awesome_." It was, though. Once he got past his own outrage at being a charity case, he spent every day having diving contests with Vince and chasing… "What was her name…?"

"Mmmm." Vince rolled on his back. "Monica. No. Veronica."

"Veronica Steele." Eric hooked his hands behind his head and leaned back. "She even had the porn star name."

"Those fucking legs --"

"--in the little white shorts--"

"--and the black panties!" They shouted together, high-fiving across the bed.

"What do you think she's doing now?" Vince asked, squinting at the ceiling.

Eric did some quick mental math. "She's probably thirty-five. Married. A few kids. Raising organic produce up there in Vermont."

"Weird." Vince turned onto his side and propped his head up on one hand. "How many hot girls have we fucked since we came to L.A.?"

Eric stretched his legs. "What do you mean '_we_'? No way can I count _your_ conquests."

"No, seriously, we've fucked some of the hottest women on Earth, and Veronica Steele is still hotter than any of them in our minds." Vince grinned.

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Eric asked. "Forbidden fruit, I guess."

"Well," Vince stretched and flipped in one smooth, yoga-like move. He slid his hand up Eric's leg and let it rest high on his leg, warm and heavy. "I've never been good at getting over my teenage crushes."

"Oh yeah," Eric said. "I was so hot at fifteen."

"What can I say?" Vince grabbed Eric's other thigh and pushed his legs apart. "I like 'em pale and scrawny."

"Fuck off," Eric muttered, but he couldn't concentrate on being pissed when Vince was sliding his pants off and nipping at his hipbone, his breath coming hot against his belly. Eric's biceps tightened and his shoulders jerked, but he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. _Stay cool_, he told himself.

Not wasting any more time, Vince bent his head and ran his tongue along Eric's cock, teasing for a second before he got to work, sucking gently at first before taking him all the way in, all wet heat and slippery friction. Eric hissed in a sharp breath; it felt so fucking good, so fucking _intense_. The exposed feel of his naked cock in Vince's mouth contrasted starkly with the harsh rasp of his jeans against the sheets.

Eric tried to push up, to get deeper, harder, but Vince backed off, laughing softly. 'What's the rush?"

Gritting his teeth, Eric smacked his head against the headboard. Fucking hell. He was so hard and Vince was just teasing him again, sucking just a little, backing off, leaving him twisted up and horny, pulling at the sheets. "Fuck this," he grunted, shoving Vince off of him.

"Not interested?" Vince smiled his best "Cover of _Vanity Fair_" smile.

Eric didn't bother answering. He just kicked off his jeans and went right for the nightstand drawer. He took out a condom, held it up triumphantly, and said, "I'm interested in this."

"Awwww, E." Vince rolled onto his back and propped himself up with his elbows.  "You never want to cuddle anymore."

"Sht th fck ump," Eric mumbled around the condom packet in his mouth as he stripped off his shirt. He climbed over Vince and pushed him down onto the bed, splaying his hands across Vince's back. They were both more toned, more smooth, more _pretty_ than they were when they were in New York. Vince's muscles flexed beneath his tanned shin, and his ass was the kind of perfect that you only got with really expensive trainers.

But that wasn't what had Eric's hands shaking while he was tearing the condom open with his teeth. It was the way that Vince hooked his leg up and let his foot slide along the inside of Eric's leg, and the way that Vince brushed his nose against Eric's collarbone and the other hundred thousand little touchpoints that they always hit, the ones that meant _Vince_ and _home_ and good fucking _God_, this was going to be good.

Eric rolled on top of Vince's back. Vince arched up and that was it, right there. Eric slid the condom on and closed his eyes and _pushed_ and this was the part where they weren't personas or people or fuckbuddies or whatever the fuck they were. They were sweat and flesh and fucking connected and this, _this_ was what Eric always wanted when they weren't together.

Vince's moans turned into sputtering gasps. His head dropped and he pitched forward, onto his elbows. Eric meant to take advantage of that and make him beg, but shit, shit, the angle of Vince's hips hit him just right and he slammed deeper without even realizing it until he gasped and slammed his hand against Vince's ribs and came and came and came.

When Eric's head cleared, Vince was laughing, which was no good at all, so Eric reached down, slid his hand over Vince's hand, which was already working his cock, and bit him in that spot, that perfect spot right at the back of his neck. Vince's laughs turned into choking gasps as he jerked in Eric's hand.

Eric fell off of him and sprawled out on the bed. "Next time you laugh, I'm not letting you come."

"Well, maybe if you weren't such a quick shot, I wouldn't have to laugh." Vince stretched out and reached for the towel on the floor.

Vince had nice sheets. Bazillion thread count Egyptian organic free-range cotton, or whatever the hell it was. The sun slanted low through the blinds and Eric relaxed, breathing slower.

"You staying the night?" Vince asked.

"Nah. Shower," Eric mumbled. "Dinner with Ari."

"You work too hard. Take a night off." Vince pulled the blanket over him.

"You work me too hard, asshole. I want a fucking raise."

"How about I buy you another car?" Vince poked him in the ribs. "Maybe I could send you to Fresh Air camp?"

"How about you do that GQ interview you've been blowing off?" Eric sighed and opened his eyes. No rest for the wicked.

"E! The guy wants me to pose in a prom dress for the cover!" Vince's eyes hardened and the persona was back.

"Versace doesn't make prom dresses. And you could use a little buzz." Eric slipped away from the sheets and grabbed his jeans.

Time to get back to work.


End file.
